Closure
by Shostakovich
Summary: All she wanted was a little closure. Death Sentence.


In Russian accent: Not great, but Russian.

So this is a Death Sentence story, my first one-shot in a very long time. Probably the only coherent one, too. I'm quite fond of this one, actually. Please leave concrit!

By the way, I'm in Moscow and lovin' it! It's beautiful, very photogenic. It's perfect. 3

Read and review!

* * *

"This is the last fuckin' time I am bailing your ass out of here, got it?"

"Yeah." Mike Makarevich sighed as his sister blew up at him for the fifth time in two and a half weeks. It wasn't his fault he'd gotten caught, it had been the other guy's loud mouth that got the cops on their back. And she said it'd be the last time every time since the first time, so he knew she'd get him out next time, and the time after that, too.

"I'm takin' money outta my own account," she said, "because you are a lazy, good for nothing punk. You think I like this? You think I enjoy wasting my money on little old _you_?"

Mike nodded, not quite meeting her stare.

"Mikhail, listen to me." Alisa grabbed her brother's chin and forced him to look her in the eye. "I'm sick of this. You need to grow the fuck up."

"I know," he muttered. He looked away as soon as she let go and went to talk to the policeman who'd been watching him.

It was embarrassing, being talked down to by his little sister. Maybe he did need to grow up, but she was tiny compared to him, and anyone could see how much of a hold she had on him. Not that she usually cared what he did. It was only when he got caught that she cared.

He glanced up when the cop started unlocking his handcuffs, but a buzz from his walkie-talkie made him pause. The policeman stepped away and had a brief conversation, glancing a few times at Mike. He came back a minute later, looking grim.

"You'll hafta stay here." He looked at Alisa. "He's gonna need to get in a line-up."

She turned quickly and stared at her brother, narrowing her eyes. "What for?"

"Murder."

* * *

The cops held him overnight, then moved him to another jail in Southie. The cop who'd almost let him go called Alisa once he was moved, and she demanded to see him before they put him in the line-up.

"He's my brother, God dammit! I'm going to see him!"

"I'm sorry, but you're going to have to wait." The cop she was dealing with looked almost scared of her, but Alisa had a feeling it was just her imagination. "It should be about half an hour."

"Yuh know what? Fuck you."

Alisa angrily pushed her way outside, ignoring the remarks sent her way by those in her way.

Like she'd stop for them.

* * *

Mike looked at the five other white, dark-haired males. He recognized one.

"Darley," he said.

Joe Darley looked up, surprised to hear his name. "Who're you?"

"Mike Makarevich." Mike strode up to Joe and grabbed his shirt, pushing him against a wall. "You fuckin' do it, kid?"

"Hey!" A cop quickly pulled Mike off of Joe, and Joe brushed off his shirt and gently touched his bandaged forehead. "Watch it, Makarevich."

Mike didn't apologize. He fixed a glare at Joe, hoping whoever it was that was calling the shots would pick Joe Darley.

* * *

Alisa paced back and forth outside of the room where the six guys were being numbered. She looked over at the black detective and narrowed her eyes when she approached her.

"I'm Detective Wallis," the woman said.

"Right."

"Are you waiting for someone in there?"

"What's it to yuh?"

Wallis smiled thinly. "Just curious." She looked at the group of boys, then back at Alisa. "Are you related to one of them?"

"None of ya fuckin' business." Alisa glared at the floor a few feet away from her, fastidiously ignoring the detective until she heard someone say Darley. She jerked her head up, staring at the door hiding her brother and the other dark-haired white boys. She spun and ran out of the police station.

* * *

Billy and Bodie were outside the office, waiting for Heco and Jamie.

"They're late."

"I know, dog." Bodie pursed his lips and squinted up the drive to the building, as if Heco's red car would magically appear by looking for it.

"They bettah have the money."

"They gotta. They know what'll happen if they don't."

"That don't count for shit. Heco's been slackin' off for ages." Billy pulled out his cigarettes and stuck on in between his lips. "Call 'em. I'm goin' ta the bar."

"Sh'y wait fer 'em here?"

"Yeah. Then come to Four Roses."

Bodie watched Billy go, smoke trailing him in periodic bursts. He pulled out his phone from his pocket, speed-dialed Heco, and waited.

* * *

Alisa climbed up into her brother's black Ford pick-up with minor difficulty. She had a copy of his car keys on her keychain, and had decided to drive his truck to the police station instead of her tiny Toyota. Even though she hated driving his truck, it being so damn big and her being so damn short, she wanted to yell at him while he was driving.

She kept her train of thought much better that way, and besides, if he messed up driving, it'd be something else to yell at him about.

Mike was the sort of person who needed all the scolding he could get from her, since no one else seemed to care what he did. She had to admit that she didn't actually care until he got caught- mostly because she got the same shit from her little brother.

Alisa was certain she was more embarrassed when fourteen-year old Andrey bitched at her than when she bitched at Mike. Andrey was taller than her, after all, and he did have a certain maturity to how he looked. But it could have just been stress, since he had crazy siblings.

Mike drove a truck, for instance, when he'd never use the truck part of it.

She'd never understood his obsession with trucks, and didn't try to, lest she be infected with that particular strain of insanity as well. So she told herself she hated driving it, and she consequently did. So driving from the police station to a particular bar was painful in more than one way.

* * *

Billy was sitting in his usual chair at the bar, still smoking- though now, it was a different cigarette.

He grunted thanks to Baggy's sister when she brought him a tinted bottle and a glass and filled it to the brim. He took a long sip and kept it in his mouth for a second, savoring the taste; nothing was quite like the first cup from a bottle of beer. When he swallowed, he closed his eyes for a moment, long enough for someone at another table to start whooping.

"Mack is back in business!"

Billy cracked open an eye and glared at the table near the door. A young man, probably younger than Joe, was standing up and heading outside, laughing at a black pick-up. The other guys at the table, all with matching sweatbands around their wrists, were talking softly together, most likely about drugs, if their red noses said anything about it.

"Shit, that ain't Mike!"

It was the guy who'd spoken before, the one who was opening the door. Billy whipped his head around, realizing they were talking about a usual customer, some Russian kid named Mike Mack-something. But the person jumping down from his truck clearly wasn't him.

First of all, Mike Mack was almost a foot taller than that.

Secondly, Mike certainly didn't have killer boobs.

Or a little waist and wide hips.

The girl looked nineteen or twenty, and she had short, straight hair and a figure that made Billy smirk appreciatively when she walked, even though she wasn't showing much skin. She paused outside the door.

"Get the fuck outta my way."

"No can do, kitten." The guy put an arm on the door, blocking her way in. Billy could tell by the way he was leaning over her that he was leering at her. "Just gotta ask where you got that nice lookin' ride out there."

"None of ya fuckin' business." The girl crossed her arms and thrust out a hip in a pose Billy recalled a lot of girls made when he wasn't interested. "Move, or I'll kick you in the balls."

"How bout you lick me in the balls instead?"

Billy let out a low whistle as the other table let out hoots. The girl mumbled something under her breath and Billy looked away.

A few seconds later:

"Mack's sister?!"

"Obviously."

"Not obvious, kitten," the guy said. "He never mentioned ya got a fuckin' huge rack."

"No, he knows that annoys me, and he knows how I am when annoyed."

"Annoyed, huh?"

"Yeah."

Billy looked up at a sharp cracking sound and then he saw the girl grabbing the guy's crotch. The guy laughed for a second but then tensed up and started yelling at her to let go. Out of the corner of his eye, Billy saw Baggy's sister smirking, holding a tray with drinks for his friends' table.

"Just let her in, dog," Billy called. The guy turned his head and Billy laughed at the look on his face. "You're a fuckin' loser, let the chick in."

"I ain't lettin' him go till he tells me were to find Billy Darley."

Billy raised his eyebrows. Baggy's sister glanced his way and he waved a hand at her to go back behind the bar. She nodded and backed away as the girl finally got a tiny answer from the guy in the door. She let him go and he staggered to stand against the wall as his friends snickered until the girl came inside.

Billy took a drag from his cigarette and locked stares with Mike Mack's sister. He blew out the smoke slowly, which usually worked in intimidation tactics, but this girl wasn't fazed.

She marched up to him and grabbed his shirt with surprising force.

"Did Joe do it?"

Billy raised his eyebrows again, this time at her directly. He glanced down from her face and at her breasts; they were almost level with his chin. The corner of his mouth lifted and he licked his lips. She hit him, rather harshly, and his head actually turned to the side a few inches.

But that was all Billy was going to take from a little girl.

He grabbed her hand before it even lost its momentum and twisted it down, bringing her even farther down until her eyes were level with his. She swallowed, but didn't squeal like most girls did.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Alisa Makarevich, and your brother's lousy scram job landed my brother in a pick-up line." She looked like she was about to spit in his face, but he quickly hefted his cigarette by her cheek.

"Don't even think about it, Macky."

Alisa lifted her chin and glared at him. "I'm gonna ask you one more time. Did. Your. Brother. Kill. Brendan. Hume." When Billy shrugged, she let out a quick breath between her teeth. "Figures you don't know his name. It was in some little gas station, no cameras. Sliced the throat. Kid had a slushie, yeah?" Billy didn't move an inch or blink an eye. "Someone shot the cashier." Billy blinked; his eyes were dry, but Alisa Makarevich took that to mean something else. "Okay, _you _shot the cashier."

Never mind that was the truth, this girl had no right to be drawing conclusions.

Billy loosened his grip on her wrist so she could untwist it, but then ran his hand quickly up her bare arm to where her tight shirt's sleeve curled around her shoulder. He dug his nails into her and her face tightened; her glare intensified, if that was even possible.

One of her hands was still gripping his fitted shirt, and he glanced down before grabbing that arm, too, holding his cigarette so the smoking end didn't quite touch her skin.

"Listen, kitten, just because you think my brother stuck the damn kid don't mean it's true. Your brother might've done it, too."

"He wouldn't've," she said. Her expression softened slightly, but not at Billy; he had a feeling she was thinking about Mike and all his idiocy. "Mike isn't a killa, Darley. His friends-" she tossed her head towards the table by the door- "they aren't killers. They're regular punks."

Billy smirked. "What kinda punk am I, then?"

"The killing kind."

He laughed out loud and shook his head. "You're some piece of work, lady." She scowled again.

"Did Joe do it?"

"I think you already know the answer to that, Macky."

"Just fuckin' give me a straight answer!"

Billy paused and looked away from her eyes for a moment, running his up and down her body with a sarcastic sigh. "Fine, if you wanna hear the fuckin' answer you wanna hear, he did it."

"You lyin', Darley?"

He laughed again and pushed her away, uncurling his hands from around her arm in such a way that his fingers brushed the sides of her breasts. She backhanded him, or would have if he didn't grab her wrist again.

"I'm faster'n you, kitten."

"I'm fucking angrier."

Alisa Makarevich stared Billy down, and smiled, genuinely amused. Here was this hot little piece coming into his bar and yelling at him just because her idiot brother was in a line-up. And he wasn't exaggerating on the little, either- she must've been a foot shorter than him. As if he wasn't afraid to beat her up, give her a nice punch in the face.

Maybe even put his fist somewhere else where it'd be more painful, and less outwardly maiming.

Then again, why use his fist? There were certainly better alternatives.

Billy smirked; he'd stopped focusing on her and his grip loosened on his wrist. She snatched it free and walked away. He quickly sharpened his gaze on her as her hips swayed from side to side from her long steps. The table by the door, where Mike Mack's friends were sitting, erupted in titters as she walked by.

Alisa Mack turned, grabbed a cup of whiskey from a tray on the bar, and sent it flying through the air at them. Even Billy flinched as it exploded on the table, and he stood up and cracked his neck. By the time he started following her, she was outside.

When he was through the door, she was running through her keychain for the car keys to her brother's truck.

"Macky!"

She glanced up at him, her eyes quickly narrowing. "What?"

He didn't know what he was going to say, so he ran his eyes up and down her again.

"_What_?"

Alisa pursed her lips and stepped back from the truck. A small smile appeared on his lips. "You got guts, kid."

"I'm not a kid." When Billy's smile widened, she added, "I'm twenty, for Chrissake."

"Still a kid to me." Billy didn't let his grin drop, even though he saw Heco's car pulling into a spot nearby. "Keep yer nose clean, Macky."

Alisa's hard expression softened again, and Billy was gratified when the corners of her mouth twitched up into a tiny grin.

"I'll try."

* * *

Mike Makarevich followed Joe Darley into the room behind the glass. Joe steadfastly ignored him.

Mike was four; Joe was five. Both of them were twenty-two, and they drank at the same bar, and fucked all the same girls, and even had slightly similar looks- around six feet, white, dark brown hair. The same looks that had gotten them in the same line-up.

And suddenly they hated each other.

Or at least Mike hated him. Before today, there'd never been any animosity. There'd barely been contact at all, actually. Hell, Joe hadn't even known who he was.

But truth was, Mike only knew who Joe Darley was because of his brother- if you had Billy Darley drinking at the same bar as you, you'd know who his friends were. And especially who his brother was. Because even if Joe Darley didn't look like much, one look at his brother and he'd be as scary as hell.

Mike turned to face the glass, knowing someone was behind there, picking one of them out. He didn't care who it was as long as it wasn't him.

Actually, he wanted Joe Darley to be the one. Maybe it'd show him some reality, that his brother couldn't protect him forever. Even Andrey knew that- fourteen or not, Andrey was still the smarted Makarevich kid. Probably would end up a doctor like their dad.

It really bothered Mike that Joe couldn't see he wouldn't always be safe in his brother's shadow.

* * *

Alisa dawdled outside of the police station, trying to resist the urge to smile. She wasn't quite sure what was so endearing about that last snippet of the exchange she and Billy Darley had shared, but she felt soothed compared to before. She had a distinct feeling she wouldn't have the heart to snap or swear at the police officers, although that black detective woman was an honest-to-goodness cow.

A few minutes passed before she felt ready to go inside. It took a minute to find out, due to a rather snappy middle-aged woman arguing with the desk worker, but Alisa quickly found out that the line-up was over, and her brother hadn't been recognized as the killer.

"That doesn't mean we won't have to talk to him later about last night."

Alisa shrugged, not really caring. "Can I bring him home now? I paid bail last night."

"Two seconds, please." The man behind the desk pulled out a walkie-talkie and pushed his chair back, turning away slightly to have some semblance of privacy. Alisa turned also, leaning on the counter and glancing around the lobby. It was pretty empty, though she hadn't really been expecting it to be at ten o'clock in the morning. It was much more hopping in police stations at ten at night. And even busier at two AM.

According to Mike, anyway.

* * *

The cell was like most cells, except this one was a double- Mike was paired up with number two from the line-up, a kid a few years older and a few inches taller than him. His name was Nick Hartman; he'd been in before the line-up for DUI. He seemed to be a good sort of guy, maybe a little misguided, but then again they all were.

A policeman came up in front of their cell and unlocked the door.

"Come on, Mack, you're sister's waiting."

Mike smiled enough to make his cheeks hurt. He glanced at Nick, dropped the stupid grin, and held out his hand.

"When ya get out, ask around Four Roses for me," he said. "It's in Southie."

"Yeah, I know it," Nick said. "Later."

"Dos vidanya."

* * *

Alisa perked up when she heard Mike whistling. It was a habit of his: when she paid his bail, he whistled.

He came around a corner and opened his arms to her. She crossed her arms, trying to hide a smirk as he approached her. Mike grabbed her around the waist and lifted her up, kissing her on the cheek twice. She laughed, squirming a little, and when he let her go she pushed him lightly.

"I'm still mad at you," she said.

"But you're acting happy."

Mike held the door open for her, and she took a deep breath of fresh air.

"Yeah." She smiled and tossed him his keys. "I got closure."


End file.
